


Hand in Hand We Come

by Fire_Sign



Series: Snips and Snails and Squirrelly Tales [4]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6498235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne receives an unexpected birthday present. (And gaslightgallows receives an expected one)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand in Hand We Come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/gifts).



> For gaslightgallows, because it's her birthday (well, it is in my part of the world at least!) and she wanted to see "a slightly-older Ant* giving him mum something nice for her birthday, and Phryne spacing on how to react." I suspect that this is not _exactly_ what she had in mind.
> 
> *For those who do not have a spreadsheet of original characters, this is my version of a Phrack kid** that shares a name with one of hers. Which is not at all confusing, but fandom hivemind and all that. At least his father has the decency to mostly call him Ant, and his mother... well, she usually calls him Squirrel. But not in this fic.
> 
> **For those REALLY following along at home, I have no idea how this became a Thing. I was rather determined it wouldn't. * _sigh_ *

* * *

 

To her-  
Hand in hand we come  
Christopher Robin and I  
To lay this book in your lap.  
Say you're surprised?  
Say you like it?  
Say it's just what you wanted?  
Because it's yours-  
because we love you.  
― A.A. Milne, _Winnie-the-Pooh_

 

* * *

 

Phryne chewed a piece of toast absently, going over the final details for Saturday’s birthday party. Mr. Butler and Dot had it all under control, of course, but it was a larger than average affair with a hired band; Jane did not wish for a separate party to celebrate her graduation from university, but it was not a milestone to go unmarked either. She would need to telephone Aunt Prudence. After coffee. Preferably at least two cups.

There was a commotion in the hall, and Phryne exchanged a glance with Jack--it was eight in the morning on his day off and he was still dressed in a suit, as if she expected anything less--then turned to look at the doorway just as Anthony came through, still in his pyjamas.

“Happy birthday, mims,” he said, almost dropping the two messily wrapped parcels in his hands as he rounded the table to give her a kiss.

“Thank you, Anthony,” she said, then smiled. “Are those for me?”

His gifts could be eclectic, but well intended; Jack had three identical ties after he made the mistake of gushing over it the first time. And being Jack, he wore them all.

“Yes, I even did the wrapping. Well, Mr. Butler cut the string but I told him how long and then I tied it but not _very_ well and I had to tie it again, but it’s all fine now,” he said in one rushed breath, uncharacteristically talkative. “Open this one first.”

He passed over the first package, which was of indiscriminate shape and about the size and heft of a large rock. Phryne unwrapped it, discovering a rather lumpy clay creation. Her son did not have a future as an artist.

“It’s a lovely… paperweight?” Phryne guessed.

“It’s a bird, mims.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she lied, glancing up to see Jack’s eyes laughing even as the rest of his face remained utterly serious. Traitor. “I shall find somewhere to display it immediately.”

Preferably in a little-used room. Her office would do, actually; it might even be a nice reminder when she was working in there. Paperwork was such a _tedious_ necessity.

“I buyed--I bought this one all myself,” he said, smiling ever-so-shyly.

She unwrapped the package he offered, removing the lid from the box and shifting the tissues aside, and found her second gift.

“It’s… very nice,” she said, at a loss of what else to say.

“I have a card too,” he said. “It’s upstairs.”

“Why don’t you go get that?” Jack suggested, clearly noting her lacklustre response even if Anthony did not.

The boy nodded and headed up the stairs, the thumps that followed telling Phryne he insisted on taking them two at a time. She found she had no desire to scold him.

“Jack, where did he get these?” She asked quietly, one finger extending to brush against the most exquisite pair of driving gloves she had ever seen; the dark leather was buttery soft, and the backs were embroidered with tiny and brightly-coloured flowers and birds.

“He’s been saving his pocket money for weeks.”

“This is at least six _months_ worth of pocket money.”

“He’s been doing odd jobs.”

“Jack!”

“And I made up the difference, but you’re not to tell him that.”

“But _why_? I would have given him the money.”

“He wanted it to be from him,” Jack said, then gave her a small smile. “It was this or a wooden toy car.”

“I almost would have preferred the car,” she said, shaking her head. “What were you thinking, letting him buy these?”

“I was thinking that I wasn’t going to win that particular argument even if I cared to make it. Which I did not, because when he saw that in the shop, all he could do was think of you. He adores you, Phryne, and he wanted you to have this.”

“It’s too much,” she said, carefully replacing the tissue. “It’s too much.”

Jack said nothing; he never did, quietly accepting those moments where it overwhelmed or chafed without comment, a rock to break her worries against before they became a tidal wave. She moved the tissues again, picking the gloves up to examine them more closely; she doubted she would have paid them any mind if she had seen them herself, and yet... and yet they felt right as she slipped them on, as she examined the way they did not fit perfectly but would soon enough mould to the shape of her hands.

She was saved from any further reflection by Anthony’s return, card in hand. Lately there were no signs of the small boy who had slipped so insidiously into their lives that he had never left, replaced with a burgeoning _largeness_. The chubby limbs were now long and lanky and a little too large for his body; front teeth too big for his little mouth, a gap where one of them was still missing; the thoughts in his mind no longer content with a little world. Even the dark curls were most often tamed beneath a small bit of his father’s pomade, at least when he was expected in polite society; he would do it after breakfast today, in preparation for Phryne’s birthday lunch at the restaurant, but for now the longer pieces on top were unrestrained. She reached out to tousle it, swallowing against the lump in her throat and the tears in her eyes.

“Are you unwell, Mims?” he asked, cocking his head in a move so reminiscent of his father that she smiled. Her darling detective boy.

“No,” she said, taking a deep breath. “No, I’m perfectly alright. Now, eat quickly, and go get dressed. I feel the need to go for a drive.”


End file.
